


sweet blossoms like butterflies

by a_sassin



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, Civilian Sakura, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Miscarriage, No Uchiha Massacre, Non-Massacre AU, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Politics, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, suicide talk, this is so fucked up lol sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:14:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29605800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_sassin/pseuds/a_sassin
Summary: Haruno Sakura had been a small, pretty child the first time they’d seen each other.She, a daughter of perhaps the richest clan on the continent.Sasuke, the second son of the Uchiha Clan head..“I have the misfortune of being born a girl, father says,” she had said one night when they were eight, sitting out on the balcony of the Event Centre to watch the bustle of the village below.“Misfortune?” Naruto echoed, head cocked curiously.“Women cannot inherit,” she’d said, and back then there’d still been a little indignation at that. “He lets me read and learn and come along to his diplomatic dinners because he thinks it’ll make me into a good wife, so I suppose it could be worse.”
Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke, Haruno Sakura/her literal piece of shit husband
Comments: 18
Kudos: 55





	sweet blossoms like butterflies

**Author's Note:**

> look i wrote this a while ago and it's lowkey depressing but im on a sasusaku wave rn so take it 
> 
> ok bye

Sasuke remembers being seven years old, standing before his father’s home desk. It had been piled high with paperwork, all in neat, orderly stacks. His father hadn’t even been looking at him when he’d said -

“You’re an Uchiha. Do _not_ embarrass me.”

He remembers thinking – _it’s a play date, how could I possibly mess it up_? – and then realising that he had _royally_ messed it up when Namikaze Naruto launched a bowl of rice at his head over the formal table of the Event Centre.

He couldn’t help it though! Naruto was so –so – so _infuriating_!

They’d only been saved by the laughter of a little girl with eyes as green as the leaves their village was so famed for.

Haruno Sakura had been a small, pretty child the first time they’d seen each other.

She, a daughter of perhaps the richest clan on the continent.

Sasuke, the second son of the Uchiha Clan head.

His father had to forgive him – it was _this_ girl he had been warned not to upset.

The Haruno were an old clan from the land of Iron, who happened to run the biggest trade networking company in all the elemental nations.

Anyway, Sasuke and Naruto sorta kinda became best friends – or best rivals. Konoha is famous for stoking the flames of friendship, and even the Uchiha are not impervious to the charm of the Fourth Hokage and the formidable woman that is his wife.

Even so, a few times a year Haruno Sakura ends up in Konoha, at dinner with the esteemed clans. She’s not the heir to her own clan even though she _should_ be.

“I have the misfortune of being born a girl, father says,” she had said one night when they were eight, sitting out on the balcony of the Event Centre to watch the bustle of the village below.

“Misfortune?” Naruto echoed, head cocked curiously.

“Women cannot inherit,” she’d said, and back then there’d still been a little indignation at that. “He lets me read and learn and come along to his diplomatic dinners because he thinks it’ll make me into a good wife, so I suppose it could be worse.”

Sasuke had exchanged a look with Naruto, puzzled.

“So? Can’t ya just learn to fight, Sakura-chan? Then you can come to Konoha and live in the village with us,” the blonde scratched at his head. “My ma says the outside world is backwards, and that Tsunade-baa-chan changed everything here.”

“I asked my father,” her voice had dipped then, “just once.”

Sasuke stopped looking out over the village to turn his gaze to her. 

“He laughed. Told me I was being silly. I think he thought I was joking.”

Her green eyes met his, glossy. He remembers how her smile had wavered.

“I wasn’t. I have been many places, and none are like Konoha. All those other places are without the both of you.”

They live in those moments, sneaking away from the formalities to laugh and joke around, playing card games and telling funny stories until the sky begins to lighten with the coming of the sun.

Sasuke sometimes wishes Sakura had been born in Konoha, trained as a shinobi. Maybe she would have ended up on their team. Maybe she would have been able to cherish them every day, instead of a couple of times in a year.

He always shakes those wistful thoughts away – he can’t change that now. He can’t change that ever, probably.

Just once, when he’s ten, he daydreams about his clan offering hers a marriage contract. To his brother, his cousin, him – it wouldn’t matter. She’d be in the village, a citizen of Konoha.

The thought drifts away as he grows and realises her family holds the key to rice trade in the land of Fire. She’s destined for greater things than marriage to a shinobi clan, despite their prowess.

Still, the thought creeps in at the soft floral scent of her hair, or when the moonlight makes her eyes glimmer, green and mischievous.

They’re fourteen when she bursts into tears out on the reception hall’s balcony.

Naruto flails about – “Oh no, Sakura-chan what’s wrong? Are you okay? What happened?”

Sasuke says nothing, staring at her until she gains enough composure to say – “They’re talking about having me married soon. I-I won’t have a choice in it. I don’t want to, gods, _I don’t want to_.”

The boys exchange a helpless look.

“Come on, Sakura-chan, you’re only fourteen – they can’t expect to marry you for another few years at least!”

Except, the next time they see her at dinner she’s fifteen and engaged to some royal cousin of the Fire Daimyo. She’s quiet. Stilted. But she still makes it to their rendezvous a block away from the reception hall.

“Take me away,” she tells them, “we’ll go somewhere, just us three.”

They blink at her.

“West,” she says, dead serious, “to the beaches along the coast there. We can have a cabin and a dog and ramen twice a week. I’ll grow a tomato plant in our backyard.”

Silence.

“Sakura,” Sasuke’s voice stays level, “we are shinobi. We cannot leave our village.”

She turns her green gaze on him, “Then I’ll order it to be done as a mission! I don’t care how much it will be, I want to get away from my stupid clan and this stupid man who I haven’t even _met_ – how can they expect me to just – I mean they can’t just – I don’t want to-”

She’s close to tears but she blinks them back.

“Sakura-chan…” Naruto’s voice is gentle, “I wanna be the next Hokage… I might have to fight teme’s brother for it, but I wanna be Hokage so bad. I can’t leave the village.”

She stares at them, eyes shimmering wetly, but nods. She knows better than to have put all her faith in her little fantasy.

The next time they see her is three months later. She’s silent. She doesn’t even make an effort to sneak away. It’s strange, Sasuke thinks, to see her so outwardly put together – her hair has been braided elaborately, makeup done softly, perfectly. Her kimono is crisp, expensive, tasteful.

Her movements denote a grace only the high born and shinobi possess.

She cracks a smile at him once or twice, but the only conversation they have is about her debt owing to him from their last game of poker.

“Sorry,” she smiles sheepishly, “I’ll pay you back next time, ne?”

There isn’t a next time. Or a next time after that.

Sakura doesn’t go to one of those dinners again.

.

It’s on a mission at the northern border of Fire country when he sees her next, a year later.

She’s grown a little, her hair is longer.

She looks miserable.

“Sasuke,” she says, nodding politely to his brother and Kakashi who are guiding his first S-ranked mission, “long time no see.”

He’s sure that there’s bags beneath her eyes under the makeup she’s wearing, but she looks beautiful anyway.

“Come in, you three must be exhausted. I’ll have the staff get some food ready – come, these are our guest rooms.”

The house is modern with touches of traditional features, like tatami in the bedroom and the dining room, and an entirely traditional tearoom.

Kakashi and Itachi disappear into their rooms, but Sasuke lingers, a hand on her elbow.

“How have you been?” he asks softly.

She turns to him with a smile. It trembles, slightly, and doesn’t reach her eyes.

“As well as can be expected, I suppose. You? Naruto?”

He observes her silently. Then he nods.

“Good. He’s still an idiot, but that’s to be expected.”

She smiles for real now, but it’s watery and the sight of it leaves his chest aching.

“That’s great. I wish I could still come to Konoha, but Daichi-sama doesn’t-”

She cuts herself off and shakes her head, “Oh, we can chat later. Clean up and come eat.”

Sasuke watches her go down the hall and around the corner before he does as she instructed.

.

He sees her again, a year after that.

She’s grown a lot now, curves filling out her slight frame, face without much baby weight.

“Sasuke,” she says, smiling gently at him. He’s almost taken aback – he’s seventeen now, an adult, a jounin. When was the last time someone treated him gently?

“Sakura,” he says instead, and the corner of his mouth quirks up just the slightest bit.

It’s Kakashi and Ino with him this time, a reconnaissance mission. They’ve been travelling for days in shitty weather, and it’s nice to be in a warm, dry mansion.

“Come, come, wash up, eat, then get some rest,” she says as she ushers them up the stairs to the guest rooms.

Sasuke doesn’t stop to chat with her until after dinner.

It’s been a year since he’s seen her, and they’d only stayed for a night last time. Her husband had been away on diplomatic business.

“Where is he now?” Sasuke questions lowly.

“On his way back from the annual Fire Festival in the capital.”

“Why didn’t you go with him?”

A pause.

“I was sick during the week he left. Couldn’t stand the thought of being cooped up in a carriage all day.”

“Hn,” he nods.

They’re having tea together, just the two of them, at her traditional, low table.

“How is Konoha?” she asks at length. “I miss it there. The bustle of the city, the food stalls, that stupid reception hall… Naruto.”

They chuckle.

“I’m surprised you don’t hear him from here, the way he conducts himself.”

Another laugh.

He watches her carefully, notes her shoulders tensing as her mirth escapes her.

“You’re in pain.” He can see it in the twitch of her brow.

“I told you, I was sick last week. It’s been a while in passing.”

He takes a moment before nodding.

“When will your husband be back?”

A pause.

“Any day now. When will you be passing back this way?”

He shrugs.

“It’s not certain. This mission is estimated to go for two to six weeks.”

She nods, and smiles – “Be sure to pop in on your way home. I know I write to you sometimes, but nothing beats having you here.”

He offers a small smile, and nods.

.

They stop by on the way back.

Their knock is answered by a harrowed looking servant, who stutters profuse apologies before leading them into the house, where they head to their rooms.

They meet at the dining room for dinner, with no sign of Sakura.

It’s part way through their meal when she treads lightly into the room.

Sasuke’s eyes are drawn immediately to her split lip.

“What happened?” he demands, setting his chopsticks aside.

With a grimace she shrugs, “My foot got into a fight with the stairs. The stairs won.”

He’s tense, taught like a wire as he scans her face. Makeup – he doesn’t want to think what else it might be covering.

“Oh, don’t fuss over me, I’ve always been this clumsy.”

He exchanges a look with Kakashi over the table.

High born grace, she had it in droves.

Foreboding stiffens the line of his spine uncomfortably.

Instead of arguing, he nods and resumes eating, hoping that Ino’s unflinching stare will force Sakura out of her composure.

She’s hiding something, and this leaden feeling weighing his gut down knows that she’s been doing it for a while.

He doesn’t wait long for confirmation that she has, in fact, been married to scum.

“Wife!” a booming voice echoes through the house. Sasuke hears it from his room.

It’s late, close to midnight.

“Wife, I called you!”

Footsteps, light and quick – “Yes, Daichi-sama?”

“You’ve not had my dinner warmed for me yet.”

A small sigh.

“You were expected tomorrow, Daichi-sama. If you had sent word ahead, I would have-”

Skin meets skin, something more solid than a slap.

“What, no witty comeback for me this time?”

Silence.

“Good. Breaking you in rough’s been the best thing I’ve done. If your father had any sense he’d have beaten you bloody before letting you come here an insolent little bitch.”

“Yes, Daichi.”

A muffled thump, a gasp, the grate of a wooden table being shifted.

“ _Sama_.” He growls.

“You don’t have to call me that, husband-”

“Why you fucking-” a grunt, and then – the sound of glass breaking, a sharp cry – Sasuke is down the stairs in an instant.

This- this _Daichi_ is looming over Sakura, sprawled on the ground. Her hand – her hand, it’d been poised to pick up shattered fragments of a cup, but her husband presses his foot _down_ –

Sasuke sees the cuts, the blood, and his Sharingan activates with the effort it takes not to raikiri the man on the spot.

“ _What_ ,” his voice is that level of deadly calm he knows only on missions, “are you doing?”

The man – he glances up at him dismissively, before grinding his foot down harder. On the ground, Sakura grunts, but doesn’t cry out.

“You must be the ninja the staff informed me of. Good, clean this mess up.”

And he turns on his heel and leaves. Sasuke almost sets him alight then and there.

Sakura is bleeding now, jagged pieces of glass embedded into the side of her hand and down her forearm. Some of her fingers are swollen, and her palm, too – beneath the bloody mess.

Her nose is bleeding, lip split afresh, but she’s not crying. He’s thankful for that.

Silently, slowly enough that she can see his every movement, he makes his way to her side. She doesn’t resist when he slots his hands beneath her arms and sets her on her feet before leading her to the table. She takes a seat robotically, still staring at the mess on the floor.

Blood and crushed ceramic.

“Ino,” he calls just loud enough. He knows she and Kakashi have been listening the whole time. The woman flash-steps into the room. Sakura doesn’t start.

The Yamanaka swiftly begins tending to her arm. A small collection of ceramic pieces litter the table top, and Sasuke finds some alcohol to clean the wounds before Ino puts the mystical palm technique to use.

All the while, Sakura is silent.

When Ino deems the healing on her arm to be sufficient enough, she assigns Sasuke the task of wrapping it and makes to touch Sakura’s face.

“Don’t,” the word is clipped.

Sasuke stares at the blood dripping from her lip, from her nose.

“He likes to see it.”

Ino blinks silently.

“Fix it and he’ll redecorate before morning.” Her voice is cold, flat. So unlike the warm, bubbly child he once knew.

He’s taken back to the night she asked them to take her away. Green eyes glimmering with determination, hope. He wishes he can go back and say _yes_.

A servant pokes their head into the room, and deeming it safe, enters and begins cleaning the mess on the floor with little fuss. The action is practiced. Sakura ignores the servant and the servant ignores her, like some fucked up routine.

Sasuke feels ill.

“Thank you,” Sakura murmurs to Ino as she steps back. Sasuke finished wrapping her arm and hand long ago, but holds onto her all the while.

She pulls away from him slowly, and stands.

“If you’ll excuse me, I must retire now.”

Sasuke watches her back as she exits the kitchen.

Listens as she walks upstairs and enters her room. Stands there, with Ino’s hand on his shoulder as her husband shoves her around, as he forces himself on her. She doesn’t say anything, but he can hear her struggling, feel the fluctuation of her small chakra signature, distressed.

He doesn’t sleep that night, sitting in his room down the hall from her. He doubts Kakashi or Ino rest either. This – How long – He –

He has to physically force himself to stop shaking or leaking killing intent.

Two and a half years – she’s been married two and a half years. Out here, without anyone to notice black eyes or split lips or broken bones.

He realises bitterly, that even if someone had noticed, no one would do anything. Her family sold her like cattle in the first place. Her husband is some jacked up cousin to the untouchable Fire Daimyo, and sans a decree from the man himself, she’s stuck with him. As a ninja of Konoha he is bound by law and by fucking politics to stay out of it.

The next morning she bids them farewell at the door. She’s put together, concealer on what he’s sure is a badly bruised nose, hair styled carefully, long, loose sleeves hiding her bandaged arm.

Sasuke shakes as he restrains himself from stealing her away. It’s hard.

.

He returns home and thinks of her daily. She’s all but trapped in that house, a trophy, a plaything. He doesn’t breathe a word to Naruto, who still babbles excitedly over the letters she sends. Sasuke sees through the false cheer of her writing, through the cute little gifts she sends and the words of encouragement.

He thinks of her at home, in her room, nursing injuries from a man she can’t defend herself against. Writing letters to friends who should have known better.

It makes him ill, stops him from sleeping. It almost affects his mission performance, but he stops himself there. Forces her out of his mind. Refuses to think about her in any capacity.

Naruto doesn’t understand why Sasuke stops showing him letters or even responding to questions asked about her, but he, surprisingly, doesn’t pry.

He goes another year without thinking of her daily before his brother appears at his apartment, looking grim.

“Your friend,” he says as they sit for tea, “we stopped by her home on the way back from a mission.”

Sasuke tenses, hands stilling from where he’d been fidgeting with his cup.

“I met her husband.”

He looks away. Shame curls in his chest, and for a gut-wrenching moment he wonders what his brother would have done that night.

“She spilled some tea and he punched her hard enough that she miscarried.”

Sasuke freezes.

He curses himself for not reading her letters, wondering if she had mentioned it. His fingers itch with the desire to grab them from the unopened pile on his bedside table.

But then the reality of Itachi’s words hit him and his head is in his hands as he shakes.

He doesn’t realise he’s crying until his brother pulls him against his chest. He wants to push him away and scoff – he’s eighteen, he doesn’t need to be coddled –

But he thinks of Sakura, with her bloodied face, her gentle smile, thinks of how she must have felt to be pregnant with that man’s child, to lose the child to his fists –

Itachi holds him and Sasuke leans into the comfort his brother provides.

.

Sakura stares blankly at the blood pooling before her on the bathroom floor. She managed to stumble in and lock the door behind her before he got his hands on the broken chair leg.

Her nightdress is ruined. She blinks down at the growing red patch between her legs and thinks, _four months. This one made it four months_.

He’s banging on the door with bloodied fists, but she knows he’ll pass out soon enough. Her jaw aches from its appointment with the table top and she acknowledges the pounding of her head from when she was shoved against the wall, but she keeps staring at the blood.

She wonders if it will stop.

A small part of her brain wonders if this is how she dies.

An even smaller part hopes it is.

A maid enters with the emergency key in the morning. It’s a middle aged woman, whose face crumples at the sight of Sakura slumped against the wall. She cries as she helps Sakura to the bathtub, cries as she helps her get clean and calls for a doctor, cries as she scrubs at the blood on the floor until the tiles shine white again.

Sakura stays silent, wondering whether her doctor will give her something for the intense cramping.

It’s been almost four years and the doctor is familiar with her now. He’s not gentle or accommodating. He’s brash and to-the-point, but he’s never unkind. He asks no questions and offers no judgement.

Even now, as he examines her and explains the process of the aftermath of miscarriage for the third time, his voice remains neutral. There’s something strange in his eyes as he gives her medication for the pain and leaves instructions with the puffy-eyed maid.

Sakura stares up at her ceiling and wishes to be anywhere but here.

.

It’s late October and she’s kneeling before the three headstones. They’re blank aside from dates and _his_ surname.

She carefully places a small bunch of flowers before each, lighting incense and bowing her head in prayer. She asks for forgiveness, for not protecting them. She asks that she no longer falls pregnant.

She asks for her husband’s death.

When she stands and turns to the house, her heart almost jumps in her throat – she thinks the man is Sasuke for a long moment, until she realises his hair is long and not as dark, and his features are a little more delicate.

“Itachi-san,” she nods her head politely as she approaches his team. Another Uchiha that she vaguely recognises from those dinners in Konoha so long ago, and a woman with a large dog by her side.

“Sakura-san,” he greets in response, “these are my current teammates, Uchiha Shisui, Inuzuka Megumi, and her partner, Hayao.”

Sakura greets the three newcomers gestures for them to follow her inside. She shows them their rooms, very pointedly not glancing in the direction of the tea room as they pass it. She hopes Itachi doesn’t remember what happened the last time he was here, despite its futility.

She dreads her husband’s return from his hunting trip in the evening.

Luckily for her, he only strikes her once, in their room before dinner. It’s easily covered with makeup, and she’s relieved at his good mood from a successful hunt.

He skips dinner to retire early and she’s left with the guests, smiling sparsely and inquiring politely as to the goings on in Konoha. Her mind is a million miles away, daydreaming of a house on the beach and sunny skies.

The ninja are gone come morning, but there’s a note resting on her dresser, unsigned.

It simply says,

_Thank you, Sakura-san_

In small, neat writing.

She sighs and sits at her window, staring out at the sky.

.

One month turns into three, and then three into seven, and seven into eight – she lets herself hope. Her stomach is swollen large enough that it’s uncomfortable to do just about anything, but her husband, desperate for an heir, has exiled himself to the capitol for weeks at a time to lessen the chances of losing this one.

He returns only for his monthly tax collection, where Sakura does her best to be on good behaviour. She’s doing well.

Until a team of ninja appear on her doorstep, led by the Copy-nin. Her eyes are drawn to the tall figure behind him, and she smiles like she hasn’t in months.

“Welcome,” she says, bowing as much as she can with her stomach so large.

The blonde woman from before is there too, staring intently at Sakura’s belly.

Sasuke nods shortly to her, but it’s not until the others have departed for their rooms that he stops to talk to her.

“I’m sorry,” he says brusquely, “for not replying to your letters.”

She smiles up at him, lifts a small hand to rest gently on his shoulder, “It’s okay.”

He softens, shoulders losing some tension as he lets himself breathe deeply.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“As well as can be expected,” she says with a light pat to her tummy, “I’ve never been this large before.”

She thinks of the three little graves outside, and prays that there won’t be a fourth.

Her husband is home in time for dinner. The sight of Sasuke has him _angry_ , like Sakura hasn’t seen in months. She wonders whether it’s jealousy or fear or some other fucked up misguided emotion that makes him shove her.

It’s funny, really. He’s pushed her down stairs, beat her with the legs of chairs and tables, cut her and burnt her – done much worse than shove her.

But she falls sideways, jarring her arm and belly painfully, and – pain, blood –

She realises she’s screaming when the door to their bedroom bursts open and her husband is in a chokehold by the Copy-nin, but all she can think is _no no no no no_ -

Somehow she ends up in the bathroom, crying hysterically as the blonde woman coaches her through – whatever this is. Labour? Not quite.

She hears the maid come in, but for once she’s dry eyed.

The child comes into the world, but the only one screaming is Sakura.

The baby is silent.

It would have been a boy.

.

Her husband is furious with her. Four children, he puts their deaths at her feet. Failure, whore, cursed, bitch – he calls her the lot, refuses to lie with her.

She doesn’t have the room in her heart to feel relief.

The woman – Ino – she had held her while she cried hard enough that she fell silent. She had put her in the bath, cleaned her up as the maid carried the little body away, stroked at her hair as she stared dazedly out the window.

Her husband names the child and buries him beside his would-be siblings.

She doesn’t visit the graves.

.

She sees Sasuke a year later. Her husband has taken up almost permanent residence in the capitol, scouring for suitable concubines.

He’s alone, a solo mission.

Seeing him has her shaken. She can’t look at him. Can’t see those dark eyes, feel the heat of him beside her. The trauma of that night rushes back and she excuses herself clumsily from the room before staggering up the stairs. She makes it almost to the top before her knees are trembling too hard to carry her any further.

She slumps against the stairs, gasping unevenly, crying and shaking and feeling like her heart is being fished up her throat.

“Sakura…”

Sasuke’s voice is gentle. So are his hands, which coax her into his lap. He holds her to him, and she leans into his warmth, his scent.

They sit there on the stairs for the better part of an hour.

“Would you kill me, if I asked you to?” She murmurs to him once the sobs have stopped. Her eyes are still refusing to stay dry, and her nose is stuffy, but her husky voice carries to him all the same.

She feels him tense against her.

“I’m twenty-one,” she says, “I’ve lived long enough. You’d… you’d make sure it wouldn’t hurt, right?”

“I-”

She pulls back from his chest to look up at his face.

His bloodline limit is activated. She can’t read his expression.

But even as she feels her own face crumple, tears coming anew, she doesn’t look away.

“I don’t want this life,” her words come out shaky but she presses on, “I wish I had run away before this. Now, it’s too late. I’ve got four deaths on my shoulders, and it’s time I pay for them.”

Her hand pats at his pockets and pouches, scrabbling until she pulls a kunai free. Soft, shaking hands grab desperately at his dry, calloused fingers, pressing the knife into his palm firmly.

“Please, Sasuke,” her voice is barely above a whisper, “I don’t – I don’t want this anymore. Please.”

His fingers curl around the kunai, but his eyes haven’t left her face.

“I won’t,” he says, and his voice is level and calm and everything Sakura doesn’t feel.

“Sakura, I can’t,” he shoves the knife back into his pouch and grasps her shoulders gently.

“I should’ve listened to you that night,” his fingers dig into the soft flesh of her back but not harshly. “I should’ve done something as soon as I knew. I’m so sorry, Sakura.”

He pulls her close and buries his face into her sweet scented neck.

Small hands grasp tightly at his back.

“I wish I could come with you to Konoha,” her breath flutters gently against his neck. Sasuke barely represses a shiver at the feel of it.

“Come with me when I leave,” he says after pulling back. Her eyes are red rimmed but she’s not crying anymore. “I can make the staff believe you’re here. Report back to your husband that you are, if necessary.”

“I couldn’t,” she shakes her head, “he still comes back at random intervals. To beat the living daylights out of his useless wife a little more.”

Her laugh is a small, bitter thing.

“An official’s wife, running away with a ninja? What would the Daimyo say?”

She looks down at her mention of the man. Sasuke bristles.

“He must know about how you’re treated. He must grant a divorce if there were evidence, right?”

She laughs again and it’s choked with tears now.

“I told him once, when I was sixteen on a visit to the capital.” Her lip wobbles dangerously. “He took me into a room and – and-”

She has to take a few seconds to get her breathing under control. Sasuke stays frozen, cold dread burning at his chest.

“- well, then. After, he let his guards beat me senseless. He told me-”

Her voice breaks and her fists tighten in his shirt.

“- he told me that he would let every man on his guard have their way with me if I ever spoke ill of him or my husband again.”

Sasuke wants violence. He wants revenge and justice and he wants to tear down the fucking daimyo. But somehow he stays calm.

He pulls Sakura close again, hugs her tightly. She trembles against him.

“I wish we had run away at fifteen,” he breathes into her hair.

He gets only hiccupping sobs in return.

.

Sasuke crouches on the windowsill of her room, hesitant. He’s already a day behind schedule, but he doesn’t want to go.

“Don’t fret,” smiles Sakura from her spot folding a letter precisely. She stands from the desk and walks over, holding it out to him. Sasuke steps into the room and takes it. It’s got Naruto’s name scrawled elegantly on the front.

“Do you know when you’ll be back this way?”

Sasuke feels his lip twitch downwards.

“You know I don’t.”

The smile she offers rings false. He’s not thinking of much else aside from getting it off her face when he leans down and kisses her.

.

Sasuke returns home. He can’t stop thinking about her. Out alone in the middle of nowhere. Preferring death over her situation. Wanting him to end it. Maybe even just wanting _him._

The thought of their kiss slams into him like an A-rank jutsu. Her lips, soft and pliant. Her hands, skimming up his shirt to settle, soft as silk, against his face. The scent of her – wildflowers and plums, gentle and fragrant.

Green eyes luminescent and sparkling when he pulled away.

_“I’ll miss you. Come back soon, Sasuke.”_

He jolts out of his thoughts as Shisui appears before him in a shunshin.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, Sasuke?”

“Nothing,” he grunts back reflexively. Shisui doesn’t need to know.

“Ooh, there’s something you’re hiding, little cousin. I’ll figure it out.”

Somehow Shisui is assigned on Sasuke’s next mission. They stop by Sakura’s, even though it’s not on the direct path to or from their destination.

Even knowing Shisui is watching Sasuke doesn’t want to restrain himself. Sakura is only available to him when missions arise in this general direction, and they are rare.

So if he smiles at her, let’s his hands linger near hers, snatches her into hidden hallways to kiss her, lets her twirl locks of his hair around her fingers when they hug – Shisui can watch.

Shisui can even tell if he wanted to. But Shisui can’t take it away from him. He wouldn’t, even if he could.

“Does anyone else know?” Asks his cousin as they make for their mission.

Sasuke doesn’t reply. It’s answer enough.

.

The next time he passes through, he’s alone. He jolts awake in the dead of night to the faint change in air pressure as the door to his room opens. His sharingan activates reflexively and he relaxes out of the tense crouch he’d rolled in to.

Sakura quietly closes the door behind her. He can see her despite the darkness, clad in an almost sheer nightgown. Her hair is down, long as it falls in gentle waves.

“Sasuke?” Her voice is barely above a whisper. He stands, and knows she can find him by the glow of his eyes.

“Hn,” he watches as she pads silently over to him. As soon as she’s close enough her hand reaches out to cling to his.

For a long moment they do nothing but stare at one another. He’s shirtless, he realises belatedly, and his bloodline limit picks up the outline of her naked body beneath the gown she’s wearing.

“Sakura, I-”

She steps forward, and he really could move at any time. He could shift slightly to the left and let her lips land on his cheek. Step back entirely and leave her leaning into empty air.

Instead he stays still, let’s himself watch as her eyes drift shut and their lips meet.

“Is this… okay?” Her voice is small. Soft breaths scented like mint tea and peaches fans across his lips. The uncertainty in her voice clamps a vice around his chest.

“Is this what you want?” He breathes back, fingers twitching at his sides with the effort it’s taking to keep his hands off her.

She looks up at him and even in the darkness her eyes reflect the desire he’s feeling.

“I want this,” she clarifies, and a soft, scarred hand rises slowly to settle against his cheek.

He leans into her touch, turning his head to brush his lips against her palm. She shivers, breaths shallow. He sees her pupils expand and struggles to keep his composure.

“I want _you_ , Sasuke…” her whisper is barely audible, and his bloodline limit can’t preserve sound, but it’s already immortalised the movement of her lips, the way her pupils are blown wide, the shifting of a lock of long hair as it slips over her shoulder.

He’ll relive this moment again and again, and each time he will find something new to marvel over.

This time it’s him who leans in, giving her the time and space to shift backwards if she needs to.

She doesn’t.

.

**Author's Note:**

> I havent written all of part 2 yet lol


End file.
